In the ’fifties the pipes smoked were mostly clays.  There were the long clays or “churchwardens,” to be smoked in hours of ease and leisure; and the short clays—­“cutties”—­which could be smoked while a man was at work.  Milo, a tobacconist in the Strand, and Inderwick, whose shop was near Leicester Square, were famous for their pipes, which could be bought for 6d. apiece.  A burlesque poem of 1853, in praise of an old black pipe, says: 

Think not of meerschaum is that bowl:  away, Ye fond enthusiasts! it is common clay, By Milo stamped, perchance by Milo’s hand, And for a tizzy purchased in the Strand.

    Famed are the clays of Inderwick, and fair
    The pipes of Fiolet from Saint Omer.

I am indebted for this quotation to a correspondent of Notes and Queries, September 27, 1913.

Another correspondent of the same journal, Colonel W.F.  Prideaux, also replying to a query of mine, wrote:  “Before briar-root pipes came into common use clay pipes were of necessity smoked by all classes.  When I matriculated at Oxford at the Easter of 1858 ...  University men used to be rather particular about the pipes they smoked.  The finest were made in France, and the favourite brand was ‘Fiolet, Saint Omer.’  I do not know if this kind is still smoked, but it was made of a soft clay that easily coloured.  In taverns, of course, the churchwarden—­beloved of Carlyle and Tennyson—­was usually smoked to the accompaniment of shandygaff.  At Simpson’s fish ordinary at Billingsgate these pipes were always placed on the table after dinner, together with screws of shag tobacco, and a smoking parliament moistened with hot or cold punch according to the season, was generally held during the following hour.  Of course, in those days no one ever thought of smoking a pipe in the presence of ladies.”

Colonel Harold Malet at the same time wrote—­“When I was a cadet at Sandhurst in 1855-58, Milo’s cutty pipes were quite the thing, and the selection by cadets of a good one out of a fresh consignment packed in sawdust was eagerly watched by the ‘Johns.’  Of course we were imitating our parents.”  It was no doubt these cutty pipes which are referred to in one of the sporting books of Robert Surtees as the “clay pipes of gentility.”

In a private letter to me, which I am privileged to quote, Colonel Prideaux adds some further particulars as to the social attitude of early Victorian days towards tobacco—­particulars which are the more valuable and interesting as being supplied from personal recollection of those now somewhat distant days.  The Colonel writes:  “When I was a young man people never thought of smoking in what house-agents call the ‘reception-rooms,’ the principal reason being that the occupation of these rooms was shared by ladies, and it was ‘bad form’ (not, by the way, a contemporary expression) to smoke while in the company of the fairer half of creation.  Consequently, men had either to indulge